Devil in Me
by Kittenshift17
Summary: Hermione is Fenrir's daughter AU, where she is the same age as Remus. Remus is the 'prodigal son' of the Pack, bitten by Fenrir to punish Lyall Lupin, and to lure Hermione to abandon her humanity and join the Pack. Who will do the luring between a pair with animal magnetism like theirs? Hermione/Remus pairing, with heavy Fenrir interaction
1. Chapter 1

**WARNINGS: This story is AU in that Hermione is born in 1959 instead of 1979, and she grows up in the Marauders Era. Fenrir Greyback is her father, and her mother is a witch, so she isn't muggleborn. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, shuffle off. If it does, be advised that this fic contains strong violence, smut, non-con elements, wolf-mate elements, and a lot of obscure or made-up-by-me Werewolf lore. **

**UPDATES : Will likely be sporadic, because I have so many fics I'm currently juggling, but this one and several others have their teeth in me, so I'm sharing for you all to enjoy the momentum.**

 **Much love! xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Devil In Me**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 ** _28_ _th_ _December, 1958_**

Fenton Granger didn't hold with rape. It was a small bright spot in a shadowy existence that he prided himself on. A spot that _Fenrir_ was all too willing to blot out. His hackles rose, exposing fangs that were too sharp and faintly bloodied. No, Fenton Granger didn't hold with rape, but Fenrir Greyback did. As Fenrir - the wolf - Fenton crossed a lot of lines he never thought he'd cross.

Staring at the woman sobbing on the ground before him, her thighs bloody with his most recent act of brutality, Fenton realised that Fenrir had pushed him over the line again.

"Get up," he growled at the woman.

She whimpered. With good reason. The command of an Alpha would be hard to ignore even though she wasn't a werewolf, but he'd broken her so badly that she likely wasn't _capable_ of getting up.

He'd never fucked like that before. He'd never raped. He might be a murderer, a cannibal, and a monster, but he'd never been a rapist. Not until now. Fenton snarled again, feeling the _Fenris_ inside of him pushing for release, clawing to break free of his skin, to take control of the last human vestiges within him. The beast pushed him to finish off the woman crying at his feet when she refused the order.

"Up," he commanded again, fighting back the wolf and squatting, naked, to pull her across the grass by her ankles. She didn't fight, even though the fear in her eyes made him think she believed he was going to rut her again.

"I can't," she whispered. "It hurts."

Fenton bit back another snarl at her soft utterance. Didn't she know it wasn't wise to admit injury to a predator? Didn't she know tempting the beast was dangerous?

As he dragged her body toward him, he breathed in her scent beneath the anxiety and fear and blood. She smelled like green tea and jasmine. The idea startled him and he leaned in a little closer. He'd been intending to lift her to her feet and propel her forward, back to the village he'd created for his pack. She wasn't a werewolf. Yet. But that could change just as soon as the next full moon came.

As he leaned into her, intrigued by the scent of her magic, he realised with a jolt just why it was that Fenrir had broken his only rule and ravaged her. She was fertile. Fertile and _his_.

"What's your name, witch?" Fenton asked of her, pain and panic ripping into him as the realisation hit of who she was and what fate dictated she meant to him.

She shook her head, sobbing softly, her lips pressed together.

"Tell me your name," Fenton insisted. He dragged her under him once more, balancing on all fours as he straddled her so he could stare into her chocolate brown eyes. Her hair hung in a mess of curls about her head upon the grass.

She shook her head again.

"I'll tell you mine," he bargained, nosing at her chest, pushing apart the sides of her shirt. He'd torn them open with his claws in his moment of lust, and she tried in vain to hold the scraps of fabric closed to protect her small breasts from his gaze.

"Please go away," she whispered. "I'm… you've had your fun. I'm beaten. Let me gather the shredded tatters of my dignity and get myself home so I can pretend this never happened."

Fenrir pushed for release again, wanting to claim her. He'd already marked her. The bite wound on her shoulder proved it.

"Can't do that, love," Fenton murmured. "You know what I am?"

She'd been refusing to meet his gaze even as he nuzzled at her chest, lapping at the blood from the faint scratches he'd left upon her flesh when he'd shredded her shirt. The urge he'd thought was merely his wolf's cannibalistic nature rising was far more insidious. His wolf didn't want to eat her; it wanted to tie her to him forever. It wanted to fuck her until she was full of his cubs and tethered to him for the rest of her life. She was his mate and he would _not_ let her get away.

Her eyes snapped to his face at his question even as he licked a scratch upon her chest until it closed over.

"You're a werewolf," she whispered. Fenton wondered at her tone. She didn't sound disgusted at the idea of his curse. He could still smell her residual fear, but that stemmed from being raped, not from his lycanthropy.

"I'm a werewolf," Fenton agreed. "Do you know why I ravaged you? Why, ordinarily, my instinct would be to break your neck and eat your corpse, but instead it's only demanding I fuck you again and again until you're swollen with my cubs?"

She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners, and she flinched when he leaned up to lap them from her skin before they could soak into her hair. She tasted salty, yet sweet. Like rich caramel. Fenton groaned softly at the taste, long forgotten from a childhood he scarcely recalled until this very moment.

"Please don't," she whispered.

"Don't what? Fuck you full of my cubs?"

"Don't lick me," she said, eyes squeeze closed. "Please?"

"My form of affection unsettles you?" Fenton asked. He supposed, from a human perspective, licking someone's tears was creepy rather than comforting.

"I want to go home," the witch whispered.

"Tell me your name," Fenton bargained. "Tell me your name and I'll take you home, love."

Her eyes flew open at his soft promise.

"But I'm your…?" she began.

"You're my mate," he nodded. "My name is Fenton Granger, little witch. What's yours?"

He bottom lip trembled as she looked at him. Fenton knew it was likely shock at the sight of him completely human. His fangs had receded at the sight of her tears and her fear. His claws, too. The fur that threatened to push through all over him when he transformed had receded, leaving him as close to human as he'd looked since his first transformation almost thirty years earlier.

He hadn't actually seen his completely human visage since he'd been a boy, now that he thought about it. But he'd be human – or as close as he could come – for his mate. Belatedly, it occurred to Fenton that he'd given her his true name – the one legally listed as belonging to a wizard who'd disappeared as a boy of six, thirty years ago. He realised with a jolt that she would know him by his true name, not by the nom de plume he went by to hide his true identity. She would not know him as Fenrir Greyback, but simply as Fenton.

"My name is Della," she whispered. "Della Stone."

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Della. I… I lost control of the wolf inside of me. I've never lost control like that before," Fenton apologised, feeling a strange, constricting sensation inside his chest as she looked at him through tear-soaked lashes.

"You said you would take me home," Della whispered.

Fenton's heart kicked out a painful beat against his ribs at the idea of taking her home where he'd be expected to play nice. Hell, he'd apologised but that didn't change the fact that he'd raped her. He'd chased her across a field, run her down and raped her.

"Will you let me clean you up first?" he asked, his wolf still yearning to fill her with cubs but knowing he needed to protect her and care for her to ensure she'd live to raise them. "Please? I won't hurt you again. I didn't mean to. I can't take you home with your dress in tatters and blood coating your skin."

Della looked fearful.

"Clean me up how?" she asked, obviously nervous.

"There's a shower in my cottage," Fenton offered. "And something to wear that won't expose you. Or I can lick you clean, if you'd prefer."

He punctuated the offer by dipping back down to lick at the beads of blood on her chest. She whimpered softly, pain, terror and disgust washing through her. He could smell it and he tried to control the urge he usually had to revel in such scents.

"Please don't lick that, Fenton," she requested softly. "It stings."

Fenton closed his eyes at the sound of his true name upon her sweet lips, nodding his head even as he lowered himself further down her body. Aye, it would sting. He'd only grazed her with his claws there, but they would sting and ache for a long time. Wounds inflicted by such a dark creature always did. Skimming his nose over her bare midriff, Fenton's eyes crossed behind closed lids at the scent of her fertility. She was ripe for bearing his cubs, and fuck if he didn't want to take her all over again.

His sensitive nose could pick up their mingling secretions the lower he moved. She sobbed softly when he paused, pressing open mouthed kisses to her abdomen, breathing in the sweet scent of her ovulation. A wicked smile stretched his mouth and he opened his eyes to peer at the witch from his perch over her. Gods, he wanted to take her again.

"Della?" he whispered. He doubted she was going to give him her permission to rut her again, but he had to ask.

"You said you'd take me home," she whimpered, her hand slowly creeping for the wand he'd knocked from her grasp in their scuffle before he'd taken her. She was plotting her escape, he realised. Terrified and in shock, she might be, but she was still planning how best to escape him.

The thought hurt him more than it ought and Fenrir howled from deep within him, furious at the idea that she plotted to leave him when he'd only just found her. The human part of him understood. Mate or not, it would take a lot more than an apology whilst looming over her to make his witch forgive him for attacking her and raping her.

Reaching down deep for his self-control, Fenton sat back on his heels, pulling away from her. He rose to his feet quickly and bent to scoop up her wand – eliciting a soft cry of devastation from the witch. Before she could protest, he scooped her into his arms, bridal style, and Disapparated with a crack.

Landing outside his cottage, Fenton carried the little witch inside it, much to her dismay.

"Stop sobbing," he said, the words coming out harsher than he intended in his annoyance over the idea that as soon as she was able, she would flee.

She hiccupped softly in response even as Fenton carried her to the bathroom in his dingy cottage. He didn't put her down as he adjusted the taps to make the water warm, not until it was ready did he stand her on her feet. He pulled her tattered dress from her small frame, unveiling her to his hungry gaze.

Her knees wobbled and she'd have fallen to the floor had he not propped her back against his chest.

"Why?" she whispered when he helped her into the shower, similarly naked as he climbed in behind her. "Why attack me and then help me?"

She was still crying and Fenton fought the urge to snarl at her. He'd never been the coddling type and he'd no idea how to console or even sooth her.

"You're my mate," he replied gruffly. "I caught your scent and the wolf in me drove us to claim you. I didn't intend to attack you, just got carried away. I'm helpin' you 'cause you're my mate and it's my job to protect you. You're the only one who can carry my cubs, witch. You're mine."

She cried harder at his explanation, hissing at the sting of hot water on the scratches upon her chest and her legs, and the bite mark on her shoulder.

"Does this mean I'll be a werewolf?" she asked dully when he reached for the soap and began carefully bathing the blood and dirt from her skin. She touched her hand to the bite mark.

"I can't infect you outside of the full moon," he replied. "That's not to infect you; that's to claim you. Any other wolf who encounters you will know you're claimed as my mate. None of them will touch you, even at a full moon. Probably doesn't feel like it, I'd wager, but it's protection for you, Della."

He didn't mention that it would allow him to track her, no matter where she went. He didn't mention that it would make her crave her steaks a little bloody or that she'd be restless and horny leading up to and during the full moon. He didn't even mention that with his bite on her shoulder, she'd be unable to conceive with or even want to fuck another man.

He'd let her find those things out of her own. Fenton Granger hadn't become Fenrir Greyback by being stupid. He knew that the minute she thought she could, she was going to run. She would apparate away from him and try to hide from him.

"It stings," she whispered.

She hissed when he pulled her mane of curls to one side to expose the bite before latching his mouth onto it and biting down all over again. She arched in his arms, writhing, trying to fight the pain and the wave of lust infusing her from the bite. Fenrir smirked within him, his wolf pleased at the idea of her arousal.

The bite made her horny for him, he knew. She was terrified, disgusted and even furious with him, but now she wanted to fuck him too. The perks of lycanthropy. Fenton lapped at the fresh blood until it stopped, his saliva healing her and closing the wound, before he kissed his way across her shoulder and up the side of her neck.

"What have you done to me?" she breathed, subconsciously thrusting her hips against his rapidly hardening cock.

"Marked you mine for all your days," he breathed in her ear, nipping her earlobe and drawing a moan from her.

Her hands reached for his, making him drop the soapy sponge and guiding him to her centre. She was still bloody there from the brutal rutting he'd given her and she hissed when he touched her.

Growling softly, Fenton spun her in his hold and propped her against the wall before he squatted once more. When he slung one of her legs over his shoulder and leaned into her cunt, she cried out. His saliva healed her raw flesh and he smirked at the taste of his spunk leaking out of her. He wasn't having that. He'd claim the little bitch and knock her up before he'd let her go, even if he had to fuck her continuously for the rest of his life until he died of exhaustion.

Working his fingers inside her, he pushed his cum into her, driving it back toward the opening of her womb. The scent of her fertility grew stronger with her arousal. Lapping at the tight bud at the top of her slit, he finger fucked her and licked her until she broke. Her terror forgotten under the onslaught of pleasure being touched by her mate could yield, she'd fisted her hands in his dark hair.

Standing to his full height once more, he scooped his hands under the backs of her thighs, lifting her and impaling her on his cock with a grunt. The tail end of her orgasm fluttered her about him and she mindlessly reached to kiss lips that had tasted her flesh. Fenton permitted it though he didn't often allow anyone to snog him. She groaned as he hard-fucked her into the wall, knowing no other way.

Fenton rutted her deep, thrusting high, feeling the tightening inside himself as his lycanthropy pushed for release along with his spunk. His bollocks tightened and he heard her breath catch as he began to thicken, his knot forming. The magic of his curse flared then, shoving her unexpectedly into an orgasm that would last until he was done coming - a good twenty minutes from now. Groaning as the knot formed into a massive, pulsing ball of tissue, locking his deep inside of her, Fenton hissed as the first spurt of cum splashed against her womb.

Like a regular canine, the magic of the knot would push his body into orgasm twenty or thirty times in as many minutes, draining him, filling her with his essence to better ensure her pregnancy. Like a plug in a bathtub, his knot would prevent even a drop from leaking out of her. Fenton groaned and growled and hissed his was through spurt after spurt, his mate arched in his arms, her expression wrought with bliss, the magic prolonging her orgasm and making her delirious with pleasure until he was done.

The last few felt like they pulled every skerrick of energy all the way up from his toes to shoot into her. It went on so long that his whole body ached and the water ran cold. He bit her so many times, marking her again and again, that were it not for the shower, they'd both be bathed in blood. As the last, throbbing, aching ejaculation squirted inside of his mate, Fenton tipped his head back, Fenrir rising within him and howling his release and his triumph to the world.

Beyond his cottage, his pack howled with him, their wolves responding to the call of their Alpha, filling them with celebration. It was a little known phenomenon that the Pack revered cubs above all else. The joy of find one's mate with which to procreate was a joyous moment indeed and they celebrated the idea of their Alpha finding his. Bone tired when it was over, Fenton leaned into Della heavily, panting as she slowly came down from her high.

She'd dug her nails into his shoulders and his back, but Fenton would where the marks with pride.

"Is that… more of you?" she whispered breathlessly as the pack howled beyond his cottage.

"My pack," he grunted. "They're celebrating."

"Why?"

"Because I found you," he said, pulling back slowly to look at her. "No werewolf can breed with any but his mate. To have found you is a rare miracle. They celebrate the notion that soon their Alpha will have cubs, strengthening the Pack in numbers and in bond."

"They think you'll impregnate me?" she asked, frowning at the idea. Fenton bit back a snarl.

"They know, I will." he murmured. "Am I hurting you?"

"Are you… always this big?" she asked, flicking her eyes south as his knot began to loosen.

"I knotted you," he shrugged. The term confused her, he could tell, but he didn't explain.

"I feel like I could sleep for a month. I've never… not for so long like that. How did you…?" her words grew slurred with exhaustion as the magic wore off, ridding her of her energy and leaving her boneless.

Fenton felt boneless himself, barely having the energy to turn off the taps and flick his wand to dry them both. She was asleep, her head on his shoulder, before he reached the bed. Not nearly done with her but needing rest, he stretched out on his bed, lying on his back with his mate sprawled across his chest. His knot – still half-formed – kept his cock inside her. It wouldn't fully recede now until she was pregnant with his cubs or until the next full moon, whichever came first.

He slept heavily, his arms like steel bands around his mate as the exhaustion won out.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Della Stone woke feeling groggy, her whole body aching and her cunny throbbing with need. Merlin, she'd never felt so horny in all her life, she was sure. Clenching her pelvic floor she moaned when she realised something was lodged deep inside of her. A something that twitched at her clench.

Her pillow grunted beneath her and Della lifted her head, her eyes snapping open in panic. She was sleeping on someone – some _thing_ – and it terrified her when she recalled who it was. Fenton Granger, the werewolf who'd run her down and raped her. The man who claimed she was his mate. The man who'd made her orgasm for what felt like hours, unending.

His eyes were open when she looked at him, though he looked like he'd only just woken. They glowed an eerie shade of gold despite the dark of the room.

"Mate?" he murmured softly.

Della whimpered. She didn't want to be his mate. She wanted to run. But right then, she also wanted another one of those unending orgasms he'd given her. Merlin, it was _wrong_. She'd no clue who he was. Not really. He'd hinted at murder and cannibalism. He'd told her he was the Alpha of a lycan pack. He'd even raped her. She should be trying to run from him. She should not be aching with desire to have him fuck her again.

"Is your… are you _still_ inside me?" she whispered, her body clenching tightly upon his cock once more.

"I belong inside you," he replied gruffly and his voice made her shiver with need. Low and rough, it grated upon her senses in the most delicious way.

"I…"

"Horny?" he smirked at her. "You want to go again?"

"You raped me," she blurted out.

He tensed. "Aye, that I did. Not intentionally, but I did. Won't do it again, though. You want me to rut you, you ask for me, witch."

Della groaned at the very idea, her body clenching once more even as she sat up, bracing her hands against his hairy chest and levering herself into a sitting position. The move drove him deep inside her, so deep it ached and throbbed, filling her with desire.

"Please," she whispered, unable or unwilling to voice her needs, but feeling the need nonetheless.

"Please what?" he growled, his hands catching her hips and holding her still when she began subconsciously rolling her hips, seeking more friction; more pleasure.

Della whined like a mutt at being held still.

"Please fuck me," she begged, delirious with need, overcome with a deep ache inside of her to be shagged until she howled her own release.

"With pleasure," he practically purred, arching under her and sliding impossibly deeper. His grip on her hips slid her up and down his cock quickly, shooting her into delirium and bliss almost immediately.

"Gods!" Della groaned. "Harder, Fenton. Please fuck me harder."

His responding growl vibrated all the way through his cock and inside of her and Della sobbed. His cock never leaving her tight, fluttering sheath, Della found herself on all fours on the bed, Fenton fucking her like the wolf he was. His massive form dwarfed her own to such an extent that her back pressed against the full length of his chest and he held her hands on the bed, his hips snapping as he rutted her. Della's mind drifted in a sea of bliss, panting, crying, overcome with it all.

He seemed to swell inside of her then and magic surged through her, slamming her into orgasm. A whining, blissful howl tore from her throat and Fenton joined her, howling as he came deep within her. She was lost, overcome, completely ruined. Her energy waned as her body went limp, held in place only by the arm he belted around her middle, holding her in place. Beyond the cottage, his pack of lycans howled with him again as he fucked her into a stupor.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Fenton lost track of the number of time over the next four days that he fucked his mate. They didn't stop to eat, their magic sustaining them, pushing them to continue, the lycan magic forcing them to continue until she fell pregnant. His Beta brought them water, waking him without disturbing his mate, but not lingering to share in his success and joy at finding his mate and fucking his cubs into her.

"Her people are looking for her, Fen," Rafe said from the doorway on the fourth day while his mate laid spooned in his arms. Fenton lifted his head, peering at his Beta.

"How do you know?" he ground out.

"There's a notice in the papers," Rafe said. "She's been reported missing. Are you done yet?"

Fenrir shifted slightly and smirked when his cock finally, _finally_ slid free of her. Breathing in deep, the sweet scent of her fertility dimmed, overcome by a rich, vanilla scent.

"She's pregnant," he murmured. His wolf nearly had him howling again, but he tamped down the urge. He didn't want to wake her.

"What are you going to do? Her people will think the worst."

"They should," he nodded, fishing his cock from within her. The puddle of ejaculate spreading across the sheet as it dribbled out of her soaked him and Fenton sighed.

Scooping his mate into his arms, he carried her to the bathroom while she slumbered. He set her on the toilet, holding her in the right position as the mess continued leaking from within her.

"You…?" Rafe asked, letting himself into the cottage.

"I ran her down when I caught her scent," Fenton grunted.

"Shit."

"The magic of the Mating might've pushed her into fondness for me rather than terror and hatred, but she'll come to and be furious soon enough. I need to get her home and safely into her bed before her people catch me.

"You're letting her go?" Rafe asked, eyes wide with shock. "She's pregnant with your cub. With the future of the pack."

"She's human," Fenton reminded him. "And she'll stay that way until she gives birth. You know what will happen if I turn her while she'd pregnant."

"But…"

"Find out where she lives, Rafe," Fenton growled. "Her name is Della Stone."

"She's from Kensington."

"I'll find it," Fenton muttered.

He needed to get her clean and fed, and then he needed to get her home. Working his fingers inside her, Fenton made a face at the thick, viscous strands of spunk that leaked down his fingers. Scraping it all out of her, he carried her to the shower and sat on the floor with her propped against him. She still didn't wake.

"You rode her hard," Rafe commented, watching the proceedings with fascination.

"She howled," Fenton smirked.

"Aye, and we howled with her. She's carrying the hope of our pack in her womb. You marked her, too," he smiled.

Fenton nodded, lapping at the scarred bite on her shoulder. He'd sunk his teeth into it more times than he could count.

"Couldn't let anyone else harm her or lay a hand on her," Fenton shrugged.

"You really want to let her go?"

"She'll be back," he murmured. "Before the cub comes, she'll love me."

Rafe nodded his head slowly. Fenton didn't know if his Beta believed him. Hell, he didn't know if he believed it himself, but he was hopeful. Leaving her would be torture, but he'd do it. He was strong. She'd need time to accept all of this. Time away from him. Time to grow their cub inside of her. Besides, the moon was rising.

Drying off and dressing quickly, Fenton Disapparated to Kensington with a crack. It was easy to follow her scent to her home. There were people waiting on watch to see if she'd come home, but he skirted around them and let himself inside. The wards rippled over him, the magic recognising him as the mate of a resident and circumventing their ability to keep him out. More perks of lycanthropy. Why anyone wouldn't want to be a werewolf was beyond Fenton.

He carried his slumbering mate all the way into her bedroom and laid her under the covers. Pressing a kiss to her forehead and another to her womb, Fenton fought with Fenrir to leave her there, unprotected. He made sure to pull the covers to her chin before he Disapparated with a crack.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm so thrilled you all liked the first chapter so much. I look forward to seeing what you make of the rest of the story. There are a few more world-building chappies before we'll get to see tiny Remus, but fear not, things will move quickly after that *winks***

 **Much love! xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Devil in Me**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter Two**

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 _19_ _th_ _September 1959_

Della Stone screamed as she laboured to bring her child into the world. She screamed and she howled and she swore bloody murder upon Fenton Granger for what he'd done to her. She hadn't dared to seek him out, even when she'd realised she was pregnant. She'd heard tales of her own disappearance. Four days spent on the cock of a werewolf before she been found, sound asleep and tucked into her bed with no memory of getting home.

She hadn't dared tell anyone where she'd been, though many a question had been asked. Her parents had been furious with her when she'd refused to divulge that she'd become the mate of a werewolf who lived in a _pack._

It was a particularly bad time in history to go announcing that one was a werewolf; was mated to a werewolf; or even knew anyone who was a werewolf. She wasn't about to bring the stigma upon her daughter that she would surely suffer should she claim a werewolf as the father of her child. Not that Fenton was listed as a werewolf. He wasn't on the Registry the Ministry had insisted on initiating. Indeed, he'd been listed as a missing person since he'd been six years old. Knowing he was a werewolf meant Della had a good idea of why he'd disappeared.

When the tiny, squalling babe finally made her entrance into the world, Della wanted to howl all over again. She found herself wanting to howl more often of late than was acceptable, which she was blaming on the fact that she'd been carrying the child of a werewolf inside her womb. She'd taken to eating her steaks bloody, and her senses had grown more powerful than was necessarily human. Everything she'd read said her child shouldn't be born a full-blown werewolf, but she would exhibit wolf-like traits.

"A beautiful baby girl," the Healer announced, catching the tiny girl, cutting the cord, and cleaning her off before handing her to Della. The tired witch flopped back against the pillows of her hospital bed, tired and sore, but pleased that she'd done it. She'd feared the delivery might kill her, if she was being honest.

"What are you going to name her?" the midwife asked softly, peering at the tiny girl in Della's arms.

Della had been thinking long and hard about that, tossing up names in her head for almost as long as she'd known she was pregnant. Numerous names had crossed her mind, all with vague literary or translator-y meanings the hinted at her lupine bloodline and the sway of the moon. From Accalia to Luna, Maheegan to Ylva, she'd tried them all on for size for her beautiful little girl. Yet, as she sat, exhausted, drinking in the sight of the small, curly-haired girl for the first time, there was one name that swam to mind. A name from her favourite Shakespearean play.

"Hermione," Della whispered. "Hermione Granger."

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Fenton felt a smile pull at the corners of his lips as he waited outside the maternity room at the hospital. When his mate had gone into labour, he'd followed her to the hospital.

"Mr and Mrs Stone?" a nurse asked, moving into the waiting room where Della's anxious parents waited for word on their daughter and granddaughter. "You can go in now. Della and the baby are doing fine; there were no complications. Little Hermione is just perfect."

The relief on their faces as they hurried into the room made him smile a little more. His daughter was healthy. She hadn't been born with fur and a tail. That was good news. He'd feared it, in the deepest recesses of his mind. He knew what it was to live a childhood as a werewolf, and though he didn't doubt his cub would have problems with the moon and feel a need to run with the pack, it was good to know she'd been born as close to human as possible.

"You. Sir, are you waiting for someone?" the nurse asked, spotting him and frowning a little.

He knew the expression too well. It was the look of someone who could sense the danger of what he was; someone who subconsciously recognised the heavy gaze of a predator, yet couldn't physically see the danger. In his human form, he'd bathed, shaved and dressed nicely for the birth of his cub.

"Waiting on Della Stone," he told the nurse, smiling.

"Oh. Well, you can go in. The delivery is complete. She's resting. Are you Hermione's father?" she asked.

Fenton nodded.

"Aye, I'm her father. But I'll just wait out here until Della's folks are through. They don't know I'm Hermione's father and I believe Della would rather things stay that way."

He didn't mind waiting. He was a very patient wolf. He'd wait until her parents were sent on home while they kept his mate overnight, and then he'd make his appearance. He knew she hadn't told them where she'd been, who'd knocked her up, or why she was so intent on keeping her secrets. He knew they had their suspicions. They'd been eyeing him routinely as he listened to his mate scream and curse and howl as she brought Fenton's cub into the world. Her Pop had even narrowed his eyes when Fenton had laughed, listening to his mate cursing him for a bastard and a wretch for impregnating her to begin with.

He'd been tempted to join her in the delivery room then, but he'd refrained. She'd kept her distance after he'd fucked her. That had bothered Fenton, but he didn't act on the urge to hunt her down. She'd come when she was ready, he'd told himself. She hadn't. And now his cub was born and his mate would learn the hard way that he _would_ be a part of her life. She'd need him as Hermione grew and the lycan genes in her blood made themselves known.

Fenton didn't rightly know what those genetics might do to his cub, but he'd be ready for them. Fenrir pushed for release beneath his skin, not liking the need for human form for such a prolonged period and tired of waiting when his mate and cub were in the next room, unprotected.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Della looked up at the soft sound of fussing, her sleep interrupted by the quiet murmur of a voice. Blinking her eyes open, she found someone standing over Hermione's crib and she reached for her wand instinctively.

"Easy, Mate," a rough, low voice soothed her, his enormous hand cradling her tiny daughter and his green-gold eyes watching her carefully. "It's just me."

"Fenton?" she whispered, her breath choked and her wand arm not lowering as she got her bearings. She watched him shudder slightly at the sound of his name on her lips.

"You did so good, Della," he murmured, stepping around the crib and leaning over the bed to lick between Della's eyes affectionately. "Our cub is perfect."

He held the small girl so delicately that it broke Della's heart. The last time she'd been looking at him, she'd been riding his cock and howling her release the day Hermione had been conceived. She had no memory of getting home or of leaving his presence.

"You… you're here," she said, her brain feeling sluggish with her exhaustion. "You… Will she be like you?"

The question had been haunting her since she'd realised she was pregnant.

"Don't know," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to the door, facing her as he cradled their daughter. "Sorta thought she'd be born a wolf-pup, to be honest."

"So did I," Della admitted, having feared it.

"Been a long time since anyone found their mate and conceived with 'em," he murmured, lowering the sleeping bundle enough to show Hermione blinking open tiny brown eyes. She was too young for optical tracking, according to Della's books, but she would swear that her daughter looked right at her father and smiled.

"Why are you here, Fenton?" Della asked, reaching for Hermione when she fussed slightly.

She was surprised when the lycan handed over the babe without issue. The tiny girl began to root at the front of Della's maternity shirt and Della realised she was hungry.

"My cub was just born. Where else would I be?" Fenton asked, his eyes on her as she fished her breast from her shirt and offered it to the baby.

The nurses had exclaimed over the ease with which Hermione had fed, latching on and feeding without issue when she'd first eaten. Della felt the scrutiny of Fenton's gaze, but soldiered on to feed the girl.

"I meant what purpose do you have being here in regard to Hermione and I?" Della asked. "Have you come to take her away from me?"

He arched a single eyebrow at the guarded way she cradled Hermione.

"You think I'd ever deprive my cub of her mother?" he asked.

"Well, then have you come to take both of us away?" she asked. She'd been worrying over such things for months.

"Do you _want_ to come with me to live with the pack?" he asked, his expression carefully neutral.

"Not particularly," she admitted. "My parents are suspicious enough over how I got pregnant and why I won't share your identity with them. They don't need further concern to have me disappear without a trace."

He watched her as Hermione nursed, silent as his eyes travelled over the two of them. She couldn't read his thought, his expression carefully concealing them.

"You understand what it means to be the mate of a werewolf, yeah?" he asked softly.

Della bit her lip.

"Not really," she admitted. "I couldn't find much literature on the subject. Most books on lycanthropy merely describe you as dark creatures bent on murder, no better than rabid beasts."

"Fools," Fenton muttered, his top lip curling back from his teeth in annoyance.

"Based on the four day sex-bender, I assume there's a little more to it?" she asked softly, frowning at him.

He nodded.

"You won't want to fuck anyone but me," he said softly. "I can't fuck anyone else, either. Not now I've marked you. The mark makes you a little more like a Lycan."

"The rare steaks and the heightened senses?" she confirmed. Fenton nodded. "And the strange urge to howl?"

"That'll be an effect of the pack magic," he smirked at her. "Whenever there's a Pack Howl, you'll likely feel the urge to join in, Lycan or not. Stronger while you were pregnant because of her."

He smoothed a gentle hand over Hermione's soft curls and the newborn blinked, still suckling as she had her dinner.

"I marked you, which makes you the claimed mate of a werewolf. Means you can be around a werewolf, even during the transformation at the full moon, and the urge to eat you won't be there," he told her. "The mark protects you. You can still be bitten and turned, but the mark prevents you from being devoured by the pack or by your own mate."

"You lose your mind during the transformation?" she confirmed. "I read about that. The bit about not recognising friend from foe beneath the full moon."

"Aye, without the claiming mark on your shoulder there, any werewolf you come across at the full moon would eat you. With it? You could run with the pack as a human and none of them would lay a paw on you."

"What about Hermione?" Della asked.

"Trickier," he murmured. "Instinctively, Lycans can't hurt cubs. It's part of the pack magic. Pups strengthen the pack; make us stronger; deepen the bonds that link us all together. They can be turned, but children are safe with werewolves, even unclaimed as anyone's mate. Without the means to have my whole pack find their mates and have pups of their own, we often infect kids for that reason."

"You… kidnap them? Bite them? Make them like you?" she whispered, horrified.

Fenton held her gaze, refusing to back down or look away in shame over the idea.

"With pups in the pack, we're more in control," he said. "They take away some of the drive to find, kill and eat people because they need to be protected, cared for, played with. Kinda like a regular wolf pack. Everyone gets along better and the pups are the heart of the pack."

"What does finding a mate and having pups with them have to do with it?" she asked fearfully, cuddling Hermione closer to her chest.

"Too young and a kid can't survive the bite. Too old and they don't count as pups for the pack, so the magic doesn't ignite. Her?" He nodded at Hermione, a little smile curling his mouth. "She's the future of the pack. Stronger, smarter, faster. She'll be more than a little lupine as she grows. You'll have to be careful with her. She'll outshine other kids."

"What do you mean?" Della frowned.

"I've never met a true-born," he said quietly. "But from what I hear, they get all the perks of lycanthropy, without the drawbacks. Heightened senses, increased healing, stronger, faster, more of a predator. Without the side-effects associated with the moon. If she does transform – which is unclear – she won't hurt throughout it and she should retain full control of her faculties when she does. She won't be sore or tired or sick after a full moon. She won't be vulnerable on the New Moon day each month. If you stick her in a running race with other kids her age who aren't Lycans, she'll probably leave them all in the dust. Everything I've heard suggests the true-borns are the hope and pride of a pack."

"You've never met one?" she asked.

Fenton shook his head. "Finding a mate is rare. Unless someone is infected with lycanthropy, they could walk right by their mate and never know, as just a human. When one _is_ bitten, they've got to survive the attack _and_ apply the paste made from powered silver and dittany. They've got to _choose_ to be a werewolf, rather than choosing death. Most choose death over this life. There aren't that many Lycans in Britain. Only a little over one hundred of us. Then the hunt for a mate begins. The last mated pair I heard about died almost twenty years ago."

"Did they have children?" Della asked.

"Aye. But they were both werewolves and the female ovulated _during_ the full moon while she was transformed. When the moon ended, she stayed a wolf – stayed that way for the full canine gestation period and gave birth to full blown wolf-cubs. They never transform; they're actual wolves with almost-human intelligence. Five of them, in total. The pack of them live in the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts."

"And the mother?" Della asked, horrified.

"Changed back to human when the pups were weaned and went on with her life as usual," he shrugged. "Generally it's expected that when a male Lycan finds his mate, he'll mark her and mate her, but not infect her. The risk of wolf-pups is too high if both parents are werewolves and they conceive during the full moon."

"So you have no intention to infect me?" she confirmed.

"Not unless refraining from doing so would end your life, little witch," he murmured, taking his eyes off their daughter to look at her carefully. He reached to smooth one of her curls behind her ear where it had fallen forward.

"And the rest of being mated? I don't have to live with you, do I?" she asked in a small voice, uncomfortably aware of how powerful he was.

Idly it occurred to her that she ought to be afraid of him, given how they'd first met, but the four days of mind-blowing sex that had followed the initial incident had pushed it down inside her mind and lessened the psychological horror, somehow.

"You don't _have_ to," he frowned. "I'd _like_ you to. I want to raise my cub. And I want to fuck many more of them into you, pretty witch. Being mated doesn't mean you're forced to associate me, if you truly hate me that much. But it _will_ prevent you from fucking anyone else. The very idea will turn your stomach."

Della knew that. She'd learned that the hard way. Robby Fenwick would likely never talk to her again. But that wasn't the point.

"You understand why I'm hesitant to consider such things, don't you?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

"I get the hesitation," he nodded. "I'd like a chance to introduce you to the pack and to prove we're not all rabid monsters. And I want to help raise my cub."

The door opened softly and Della tensed, her eyes going wide as her parents returned for the afternoon. They'd left to bathe and to sleep, having been with her through the long night as she laboured. Fenton growled softly at the interruption, his eyes flashing gold and making Della nervous.

"Della?" her father asked softly.

"Dad," she said weakly.

"Who is this, Della?" her mother asked, narrowing her eyes on Fenton's back.

"I should go," he murmured to her, not turning to acknowledge her parents.

Della nodded empathically in agreement, not wanting to deal with the fallout. He looked like he didn't approve. She held her breath when he leaned toward her slowly, invading her space even more.

When he brushed his lips to hers, Della hated the way her whole body reacted to the touch. Her heart pounding a mile a minute and her brain going fuzzy, Della kissed him back. A soft, growling sort of purr escaped him, a sound of satisfaction. She melted against his lips, snogging him hotly and reaching her free hand to tangle it in his shoulder-length dark hair.

Dimly she was aware of her parents' outrage and confusion but she was too lost to the kiss to care. Gods, it was a dangerous feeling, the one suffusing her as he pulled back slowly.

"I'll see you soon, Mate," Fenton told her, lifting his head to lick between her eyes affectionately again. Della was breathless from the kiss and she didn't stop him when he smoothed a loving hand over Hermione's curls. "And you, little cub, I'll see you very soon. I'll take you to meet the pack."

He leaned down to the tiny baby and Hermione released Della's nipple to blink at her father, her face stretching into a gummy smile. Fenton pressed his nose against her hair, breathing in her scent. He licked her forehead too, an affectionate move that recalled a dog licking a puppy in praise for good behaviour, or comfort.

"Who are you, lad? Are you Hermione's father?" Della's Dad asked, but Fenton ignored him. He stood quickly and moved away from the bed, never turning to face her parents, before he shot Della a wink and Disapparated with a crack.

Her mother cried out in annoyance.

"Della, love? Are you alright?" her dad asked, catching onto her mood when he spotted the look on her face.

"Daddy?" Della whispered. "Get me out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know it's been forever. Sorry about that. But it's finally here and I CANNOT wait for your reactions. Mwahahaha!**

 **xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Devil in Me**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

 ** _May 8_ _th_ _, 1962_**

Hermione Granger ran on legs that ought to have been chubby and clumsy. She dashed through the backyard faster than her mother could catch her, giggling as the witch chased her, waving her dress and calling to her that she couldn't run about naked. Hermione liked being naked, so she ran all the faster, giggling at Mummy over her shoulder as she leaped the back fence and raced for the field beyond.

"Hermione! Get back here!" Della shouted after the curly haired menace.

Hermione didn't go back. She liked to run. She liked to be naked. She liked to get dirty and follow her nose wherever it might lead her. She didn't like skirts. Or dresses. Or pants. She hated clothes. She hated shoes even more than clothes. Mummy was always trying to make her wear them and Hermione howled in protest every single time.

Dashing for the copse of trees in the distance and the small pond beyond it, Hermione ran faster, even though Mummy was chasing her.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Della Stone groaned in frustration with her daughter. With the full moon just two days away, the little urchin was running wild. Not yet three years old, she was everything Fenton had said she would be. Too fast. Too clever. Too wilful. Too lupine.

Della had gone into hiding after Fenton had left that day in the hospital. She'd relocated herself, her daughter, and her parents to a small cottage on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow where no one knew them and where Fenton's pack wouldn't be able to find them. Eventually, she'd had to send her parents away too. They'd never let up about Fenton, working his name out of her but not his secret. Not until the first full moon after Hermione turned two, anyway.

When they'd gone to Hermione's crib to find the tiny girl, human but sporting furry wolf ears, a long, fluffy tail, tiny claws on the ends of her fingers, and wolf eyes, they'd figured out the truth. The girl hadn't attacked them or even looked at them like she'd noticed anything was wrong.

George and Helen Stone had been beside themselves, demanding answers out of Della that she hadn't wanted to give. They'd seen the bite mark on Della's shoulder. They'd heard the tale of her being mated to a werewolf. They'd realised they weren't safe should Fenton ever find them. And so they had left. They'd given Della their 'blessing' on raising a child they'd begun referring to as an abomination, packed their things and left for Australia the very next day. That had been eight months ago.

They still wrote to her, urging her to leave Hermione to Fenton and his pack. To forget having a child. To run away with them and never think twice about her daughter or her mate again.

On days like today, Della was tempted.

Throughout the rest of the month, Hermione was almost normal. She might be brighter and a little wilder than other children, but she was beautiful, and well behaved, and she loved reading and learning. On the lead up to the full moon, however, she became a demon-child bent on prematurely aging Della and driving her mother mad. She refused to wear clothes or shoes. She wouldn't sit still. She howled. She dug holes in the garden and growled at anyone and anything that came too close to their 'territory' - as the girl called it.

She was disobedient, hyper-active, outright naughty and _always_ messy. Della supposed she should just give up and let the girl run wild, but she feared the neighbours would see. Already they thought her odd because she rarely liked to leave Hermione alone and she preferred not to make too many friends who might figure out how advanced Hermione was. Sighing, she set aside the dress she'd wanted to put her daughter in for the day and she returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up after breakfast and to put on a load of washing.

The girl would undoubtedly come wandering back to the house when she got hungry enough, covered in mud and probably bringing a dead rabbit or something with her. Della would be lucky if she could wrestle the thing away from the girl long enough to cook it. More than once the little beast had gobble up raw frog, uncooked, half-plucked birds and other things that made Della vomit. No matter how she taught the girl that uncooked meat was unsafe to eat and that doing so was in direction opposition with what was considered 'normal' the girl occasionally lost control of her appetite and ate them anyway.

She always seemed contrite afterwards, as though fearful of being scolded when Della found out or perhaps feeling bad at the sight of her mother vomiting. Della told herself that, just like every toddler, the girl would grow out of eating things she shouldn't and that, with time, she would learn to control her wolfish tendencies and act as normal as possible.

She just wondered how long it would take and whether she should really even trust a hope.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

 ** _19_ _th_ _September, 1963_**

Fenrir Greyback was a patient wolf, but he was rapidly losing his temper. His cub would be four years old today and he hadn't seem her since the day she'd been born. His mate had run off with the girl and hidden her away from him and Fenrir had had just about enough.

He's explained to the woman the importance of Hermione's role in the Pack. He'd told her that cubs helped keep their wolves from wretched acts of depravity beneath the full moon. He'd explained that being so young and being the true-born daughter of a mate-bond, the girl was special beyond magic to him and to his pack. And the bitch had secreted her away where Fenrir couldn't find her.

Worse, the Ministry, in their supposed wisdom, had cooked up a 'cure' to the werewolf problem. As his rage and his temper had grown, Fenrir could admit he'd gotten a little out of control. The search for his daughter had brought him into contact with pups more often than not and he wasn't ashamed to admit he'd infect more than half of those he ran across. He snatched them away from their parents and he infected them with Lycanthropy.

For a time, things in the pack had been good. So many cubs, ranging in age from three years to almost twelve, had delighted the adult members of the pack and things had been good. And then the Ministry had realised where the children were going when one of the little shits had run away from the pack and back to his parents, reporting that the missing kids on the posters were all with the pack. Their parents, horrified at the idea of raising monsters, had refused to accept their children when Fenrir had proposed an idea to the pups that they could return to live with their parents if they wished, spending the full moons with the pack and living with their folks the rest.

He wasn't a complete monster, he'd argued with the thirteen year old who's snarled and snapped at him for the suggestion that he ripped families apart, destroying their lives as surely as Della had ripped his family and his life apart, hiding Hermione. That one had caught Fenrir's fangs and things had spiralled out of control from there. The Ministry had cooked up a 'cure' for lycanthropy.

A poison, more like. A plague that spread through the werewolf community, infecting them and killing them a little at a time. His pack, once forty strong, had dwindled to just seven remaining members. The Cubs and the Elders had been hit the hardest. The plague the Ministry had created infected their lungs, poisoning their bodies and rotting them from the inside out. When he'd been unable to protect the cubs from growing infected – the last one, a boy of six named Toby – Fenrir had lost his temper. His temper and his cool, it seemed. He'd marched into the Ministry carting Toby's cold, lifeless body and he'd dumped the body on the desk of the Minster for Magic, using his claws to rip the boy's chest and abdomen open, showing the cunt of a Minister just what he'd signed off on with his Lycanthropy Cure.

To his credit, the Minister had looked ill and grown inconsolable at the idea that such a young child would suffer so much. He obviously hadn't known the true effects of the 'Cure' and he obviously hadn't been aware that outside the full moon, most werewolves were so human. Fenrir had threatened him at claw-point that if he didn't cease all production of the cure and didn't stop sending his soldiers after the packs, he would make it his personal vendetta to infect every single Ministry employee; every witch, every wizard, every child. He had vowed that he would create an army of Lycans that would overrun the wizarding population, devouring the dead and showing him just how frightening werewolves actually _could_ be.

It had been fun, he mused. Fun, but foolish. Aye, the Minister had terminated the productions of the plague and begun focusing on efforts that instead would 'cure' werewolves of their mind-loss at the full moon, dulling the pre-moon symptoms and making them harmless. Fenrir didn't like it, but it was better than the alternative.

The trouble was that his pack was down to seven members; his mate and his cub were nowhere to be found; and things were getting out of control. The Pack had attacked a village of muggles at the last full moon, devouring many, killing even more. The Ministry was on the hunt and the Pack was in danger of being captured and killed for their crimes. They needed cubs. They needed the control and the security of having cubs to care for that would prevent such massacres in future.

"Alpha?" Rafe asked, approaching the porch of Fenrir's cottage in the woods carefully. His pack feared him, these days. Without his mate he was unstable, at best. No sex in four years had practically killed him and the Fenris inside of him had been slowly devouring all that was left on Fenton Granger, leaving him nothing but the beast.

"What is it, Rafe?" Fenrir growled, eyeing the other wolf with annoyance at being interrupted.

"We need more cubs, Fen," Rafe whispered, skulking closer, looking a little fearful of being attacked. "Kendra and I… we wondered if an injection of cubs whose parents wouldn't miss them might… be effective."

Fenrir raised his eyebrows, silently inviting the man to go on.

"There's an orphanage for magical children in Brocklehurst," Rafe whispered. "Hasn't been open long, but there are at least ten or more kids inside it. Kendra's sector of the Ministry has been handling the funding for it. If we… staged an attack for the full moon, the pack would have cubs again. Enough to keep our heads and to keep us to the woods. Things are getting worse, Kendra said, at the Ministry. The Register is being checked and everyone on it has been tried and thrown into Azkaban – them what could be found. They're all locked up. With cubs, we'd not be so violent. We could… free the chained to grow our numbers and then we could infect those kids."

For the first time in what felt like years, a smirk crawled its way across Fenrir Greyback's face.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

 ** _January 5_ _th_ _, 1964_**

Liberating the incarcerated wolves had been easier than he'd imagined, Fenrir smirked, looking around the village of the Pack where the new members were beginning to settle in, making themselves at home. They were all fugitives now. They had nowhere else to go. They were grateful, too, to be free of Azkaban. There had been thirteen of them sitting in cells in that wretched place. More prisoners had begged to be freed too and Fenrir had offered them a deal.

Freedom at the price of accepting the bite. Five more had taken the deal, trading their humanity for their freedom and Fenrir was pleased at the increase in numbers to the pack. With the full moon just hours away, they would soon mount their attack on the orphanage, winning cubs to temper their sanity once more. He was pleased. He hadn't found his daughter, yet, but he was pleased nonetheless.

He could've sworn he'd caught a whiff of Della's scent when he'd last been to the Ministry, too. He would find her, he knew it. Soon he would have his cub and his mate and he would fuck more cubs into Della just as soon as he stopped punishing her for thinking she could hide from him.

"Alpha?" Kendra asked softly, the female lycan wandering closer as though sensing his good mood. "Should we go? The moon will soon be too high to Apparate."

Fenrir nodded.

"Round up the original members of the pack," he commanded her. "The new members will remain here for the night. Bring them who bargained the bite for their freedom. I'll infect them first, before the cubs."

"Yes, Alpha," Kendra said, smiling. She hurried away, a spring in her step at the idea that soon there would be cubs to care for once more.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Forcing the change before the full moon was completely risen hurt, but Fenrir did it. The sooner he took wolf form, the more in control he'd be to infect the others. They each quaked fearfully, held in place by the others as they hung onto human form. The winced and they screamed when he lunged at each of them in turn, infecting them, making them lycans like him.

Kendra had the paste of dittany and silver on hand, waiting. She administered it to the bites of each new pack member as they were bitten, following along after Fenrir as he bit each of them in turn. More than one of them cried, but soon enough they would thank him for what he'd done.

When he was finished with them, he turned his attention to the building in the distance. The orphanage that held the children who would soon flesh out the ranks of his pack.

"Rafe, you'll have to get the door to let him in," Kendra reminded the pack Beta as she ran alongside him in the direction of the orphanage. The change was almost upon the lot of them and the more he could bite, the more Kendra could treat with the paste before she too would be forced to change. The more that changed as the moon forced them all to wolf form, the more in control they'd be not to kill the rest.

Rafe dashed ahead of Fenrir, pouncing on the security guard standing watch outside the orphanage and holding him still for the bite. Kendra was laughing as she treated the man's wounds while he screamed, undoubtedly scaring the children and the matrons within. Rafe flung the door open for Fenrir and, like a wolf in a henhouse, he went to town. Racing upstairs on swift paws, Fenrir burst into the huge open hall where the children all slept.

Many screamed as he pounced on them, biting them, infecting them. Unlike with the adults, he felt no urge to rip their throats out. Indeed, he had to concentrate to even bite them. It went against his nature to harm children, and their terror didn't sit well with him.

Kendra had half of them covered in the paste, ensuring their lycanthropic future before the change took her. She dropped the bowl, gasping instructions to one of the bitten but untreated children, telling the girl of perhaps nine that she must treat the others with the paste unless they would prefer to die a slow and agonising death. The girl, in tears but apparently mature for her age, rounded up the others as Kendra, Fenrir and Rafe all infected them. She smeared paste on all their wounds, wrestling with those who tried to refuse, wanting to die rather than becoming a monster. They would undoubtedly be a problem later, but Fenrir would deal with that when the sun rose.

All of them bitten, he and Rafe herded them out of the building and into the field beyond it. They would have to run home, Fenrir sighed, but it would be worth it. Just as he was chasing the last cub from the building, Aurors began apparating and Fenrir snarled, the urge to rip their throats out over taking him.

He launched himself on the nearest one, ripping his throat out but not before the wretched wizard got off a killing curse. Aimed at a fully grown werewolf like Fenrir, on a full moon, the spell would do little more than piss him off. He pounced on the others, biting some, killing others. He didn't care who he hurt, he was too lost to the moon for that. All he could do was follow his instincts until they were all dead or had all been treated with the paste, growing the pack from their original seven to well over fort with the inclusion of the prisoners they'd liberated and the children they'd come hunting and those caught in the crossfire.

When the rage settled in once more, he led them all home to the village where the Pack lived and they howled and rejoiced at their numbers and their freedom until the sun rose.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

 ** _21_ _st_ _October, 1964_**

"Please, Daddy?" the soft voice called from the dark bed while the moon glowed bright overhead. Lyall Lupin sighed from the doorway.

"Remus, there's nothing under you bed, son," he told the little boy.

"What if there is?" Remus protested weakly.

"The only things under a bed in a wizarding house like this would be Pygmy Puffs, Remus," Lyall said.

He'd had a long day at the Ministry. He'd been made a laughing stock for his allegations against Fenrir Greyback in the courtroom and they'd refused to hold the man despite the rising full moon. He was tired and he wasn't in the mood for reassuring his son that there weren't monsters in the world when there most certainly were. Not that he could tell his four year old that.

"But I heard something," Remus squeaked and Lyall sighed.

"Fine," Lyall muttered. "One last check. You're getting a bit too old to be worrying about monsters under your bed, Remus."

He strode back across the dark bedroom by the light of the full moon gleaming in through the window and got down on his knees. Lighting the tip of his wand, Lyall checked under the bed, finding nothing but a discarded sock and a crumpled bit of parchment.

"There's nothing under here, buddy,"Lyall said, lifting his tired eyes to look back at his son where he peeped over the edges of his blankets, his sandy hair practically glowing in the moonlight.

"But I heard something," Remus whispered again.

"It was probably just Mum in the kitchen," Lyall said. "She was washing one of the big pots from dinner. Maybe she banged it a bit."

"Oh," Remus said, his little body uncoiling as he relaxed. "Thank you for checking, Daddy."

"Just get some sleep, alright?" Lyall said. "Everything will look better in the morning."

Remus nodded.

"I love you, Daddy," he said before yawning big and stretching out under the covers, preparing for sleep.

Lyall's heartstrings pulled just a bit and some of his foul mood after his long day melted away.

"I love you too, Remus. More than anything," he promised, leaning over to press a kiss to the boy's forehead.

"Goodnight, Daddy," Remus murmured, already slipping toward slumber.

"Goodnight, buddy."

Walking softly, Lyall left the room, pulling the bedroom door almost all the way closed so the hall light wouldn't disturb the young boy. He didn't see the pair of eyes glowing from the darkness behind the bedroom door, or hear the faint scrape of lupine claws on the wooden floor as the door slowly clicked closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I hope you like this one.**

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Devil in Me**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

 _21_ _st_ _October, 1964_

Remus Lupin blinked his eyes open at the soft sound in the dead of the night. The soft _snick_ of claws clicking across the hardwood floor of his bedroom. Eyes gleamed from the corner of the room, coming closer and he froze in terror.

"I wasn't under the bed," a gravelly voice said quietly, coming from the direction of the glowing yellow eyes.

Remus was too scared to scream. It could talk. The monster could talk. Daddy said he was too old to worry about monsters in his room, but there was a monster, and it could talk. He couldn't make out any other features other than its glowing eyes. He could hear that repeated _snick-snick_ of claws against the wood as the eyes moved closer.

"Don't scream, little cub," the voice said as the end of Remus's bed sagged, the monster climbing up on top of it. "This won't hurt…. Much."

A terrible sound of cracking bones and ripping flesh rent the air and the monster writhed on the end of his bed, pinning Remus's feet. Too scared to scream or to try to run, Remus pulled his blankets over his head, hoping the monster might go away if it couldn't see him.

It didn't.

A terrible growl rocked through Remus's tiny frame and a little whimper of terror tore from his throat when the blankets were slowly dragged down, no matter how he fought with them. Looming over him when he dared open his eyes despite being curled into a defensive ball, a terrible, enormous wolf filled Remus's sight. He didn't bare his fangs or snarl at Remus once the blanket was out of the way and when he made no immediate move to lunge at him or attack, Remus blinked.

He might be young, but his Daddy had been teaching him about magical creatures since he could talk. And Daddy often said that if the creature didn't immediately attack, it might be friendly.

"Are you… a werewolf?" Remus asked fearfully, eyeing the enormous black wolf and wondering if the monster could still talk.

When the wolf nodded, Remus suspected that though he was a wolf, he could still think like a human.

"Are you going to eat me?" Remus asked, having learned from Daddy that werewolves were dangerous, mindless killers.

The wolf shook his head, sitting back on the haunches and regarding Remus carefully. Remus stared back, slowly uncurling when the monster made no move to attack him. He sat up and held the golden-eyed gaze of the beast sitting on the end of his bed.

"Why are you here if you don't want to eat me?" Remus asked. "Daddy won't be happy if he sees you. He doesn't like werewolves."

The wolf nodded again and Remus took that for agreement.

"Can I pet you?" Remus asked when the wolf still didn't move, the urge to pet the enormous creatures overwhelming him. He looked like a really big, really hungry dog.

The wolf huffed in surprise at the question, obviously surprised by his slowly receding fear. He leaned forward slowly, bowing his head and offering it to Remus to pet. Remus's hand trembled as he reached out slowly to pet the enormous monster. His thick fur tickled Remus's palm when he touched him. Remus could feel the magic coursing through the dark creature, powerful and pulsing. Through the window, the light of the full moon illuminated the two of them and Remus laughed quietly, wondering how this could be.

How could Daddy say that werewolves were mindless, ravenous beasts when this one was sitting so politely in his presence, letting Remus pet him?

"You're big," Remus told the werewolf. "I wish you could still talk. I have questions."

The wolf opened his eyes and met Remus's gaze, tilting his head to one side and looking intrigued. Remus wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Remus?" Daddy's voice came from the hallway. "Who are you talking to, son?"

The beast growled when Daddy turned the doorhandle and Remus reached for him with both hands, gripping the monster's furry face, trying to keep his gaze on him even as Daddy pushed the door open.

"Daddy, don't," Remus begged, sensing the evil intent in the wolf's eyes when Daddy gasped, his hand diving for his wand.

"Remus, run!" Lyall Lupin shouted, flinging hexes at the werewolf.

Remus clung tighter to the wolf.

"Don't attack him. He doesn't know you're friendly. Daddy, stop!" Remus shouted, trying to reason with the werewolf before yelling at Daddy.

"I'll kill you for this, you bastard!" Lyall shouted at the werewolf and Remus hissed in surprise when the wolf leaned forward and licked him right between the eyes.

"What was that for?" Remus asked, more surprised than afraid.

He regretted it when the wolf stood, nudging Remus's chest with his enormous head and pushing him back until he was lying flat, as though to protect him from the Killing Curses that Daddy was flinging at the monster.

Remus held his breath when the werewolf loomed over him once more before it lunged. That huge maw wrapped around Remus's left shoulder and Remus howled in pain and shock and betrayal that his new friend had bitten him.

"NOOOOO!" Lyall screamed.

The werewolf bit Remus hard and Remus began to cry, screaming and sobbing with the agony of the bite. Bounding off the bed and leaving him there, bleeding, the werewolf leapt through the open second story window, disappearing from view.

Remus writhed on the bed as Daddy chased the werewolf across the room, flinging more curses at the beast that bounced right off.

"Remus?" Hope Lupin rushed into the room, hurrying over to her young son where he screamed on the bed, blood staining his pyjamas and his sheets.

Remus cried harder when Mummy saw the bite and pulled him into her embrace, holding him snugly as she began to cry.

"My precious boy," she said over and over again.

"Hope, that was a werewolf," Lyall told his wife. "We need to make a paste of powered silver and dittany. He bit Remus and if we don't apply it, Remus will die."

Daddy was crying and Mummy was crying as they carried Remus down the stairs and into Daddy's office. Remus screamed and cried and writhed, and when he was sat upon Daddy's desk while Daddy made a paste and began painting it on Remus's bite, Remus would swear he spied a pair of intelligent golden eyes watching him through the window.

 **~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

 _17_ _th_ _January 1965_

Della Stone writhed upon the bed, her body thrumming with need. This was getting out of hand. Every month now since the birth of Hermione in the lead up to the full moon, her body thrummed and ached and positively trembled with need. She knew it was the result of the full moon, the bite on her shoulder, and her lycanthropic link to Fenton as his mate driving her body mad with the need to seek him out.

For five years, she had resisted. For five years she'd holed up in her room at the full moon, hidden far from wherever Fenton might find them and hoping against hope that he might find them, just the same. Just for a little while. Just to relieve the terrible throb in her nethers. She didn't dare go to him. She didn't want to get pregnant again. She didn't want to face him when she'd hidden from him for so long, hiding herself and their daughter far from his reach.

He would be angry. He would punish her. She barely knew him and she didn't know how he might react should she just turn up at his cottage one day, out of her mind with lust. What if he tried to take Hermione from her?

Della whimpered, struggling against the urges the moon pushed through her.

Hermione was growing wilder with each passing moon. She'd been enrolled to start school and already Della had been forced to move them three times because the girl didn't understand how not to talk about her condition. She'd tried sending the girl to muggle schools, which helped, since the other children thought her weird, but didn't believe in werewolves enough to think it more than just a game. But when the teachers started asking questions about her imagination, Della tended to move them.

Maybe she _should_ go to Fenton. She was struggling on her own. The two of them against the world wasn't healthy, and Hermione didn't make friends easily. She was too much a lone wolf, too weird, too wild, too different. She was territorial, and she didn't like letting strangers onto their land whenever they moved house - vehemently defending their 'den' to the point where she'd bitten the kindly old man who lived next door at their last residence.

Della was so tired.

Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of the letters from her parents that urged her to leave Hermione to Fenton and to run far away. She was tired of the aching need inside her soul for a man's touch, so long unfulfilled.

"Mummy?" Hermione asked quietly, padding into the room sporting her tail, her wolf ears, her fangs and her claws. Her usually brown eyes gleamed a bright canine gold.

"What is it, darling?" Della asked, her breath laboured.

"You hurt like this because you miss my Daddy," Hermione told her matter-of-factly.

Della nodded, whimpering.

"Why do we hide form him?" Hermione asked, climbing up on the bed. "If you hurt without him, and he's like me, shouldn't we be with him. What if he hurts without you, too?"

Della hated that the girl's thoughts were running parallel to her own. Maybe it was time. Maybe she should go to him.

"Do you want to meet your Daddy, sweetheart?" Della asked her quietly.

"Will he hurt us, Mummy?" Hermione asked innocently. "You said we had to stay away from Daddy because he might hurt us."

"He'd never hurt you, darling," Della assured her.

"Would he hurt _you_?" Hermione asked, frowning, baring her fangs at the very idea.

"He might, darling. Mummy ran from him when you were born and hasn't let him find us since. He might not be very happy that we've been hiding from him. He might be very angry with Mummy."

"I wouldn't let him hurt you, Mummy," Hermione said, tangling her hands in Della's hair and growling fiercely.

Della laughed. "Daddy's quite a bit bigger than you, sweetheart. You might have needle sharp fangs, but Daddy has fangs, too. He wouldn't consider you much of a wrestling opponent, darling."

Hermione growled again.

"Would you like to go to him, sweetheart?" Della asked quietly. "He's an Alpha werewolf with a Pack. There might be others like you who live there."

"What if he's mean to you?" Hermione frowned.

"We'll leave if he's mean to us, darling," Della promised. "But it's probably time you met your Daddy, don't you think?"

Hermione looked thoughtful, twirling some of Della's curls arounds her little claws over and over again.

"Would I have to hide my ears and my tail?" Hermione wanted to know.

"No, darling. You wouldn't have to wear shoes either. The pack are all used to tails and ears and no shoes, I'm sure."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the thought.

"Can we go now?" she asked.

Della shook her head.

"It might be better to wait until tomorrow, darling. After the moon."

"You said I don't have to hide," Hermione protested.

"You don't. But Daddy is a full-blown werewolf, Hermione. He's a wolf right now."

"I wish I could be a wolf," Hermione sighed.

Della smiled gently at her daughter. "Maybe Daddy can teach you how," she offered.

Hermione grinned.

"We should go while the moon is full. Daddy will be tired tomorrow and he won't be as likely to be upset with you if you're there to make him feel better after the moon," Hermione told her.

Della thought about it seriously, frowning for a long moment. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe it would be better to ambush Fenton in the morning, arriving when he wouldn't immediately attack her. Maybe she should go to his cottage and let him see her there. The separation of species for the night would keep him from rutting her, she was sure, and he'd promised that her bite mark meant she'd be safe.

Sighing, nervous about the idea of going to him, but so utterly in need of her mate, Della made a snap decision.

"Alright, sweetheart. We'll go," Della whispered. "Let me get changed and we'll go."

Hermione nodded, bounding off the bed and scampering down the hall to change out of her pyjamas.

"Mummy, will you cut a hole for my tail?" she asked, racing back a few minutes later with a pair of jeans and a jumper on.

"Of course, darling," Della said gently as she dressed in clothing she wouldn't mind seeing shredded by Fenton's claws if he lost his temper with her.

Using her wand, Della carefully created a hole for Hermione to thread her tail through, hemming it carefully with magic. The girl had wrecked many a pair of pants on the full moon by using her claws to make tail-holes and she'd learned that it was better to ask for help than to tear them since she usually tore too hard and shredded the pants completely.

When it was done, Della handed them back to her daughter, surprised that the girl wanted to wear them at all. Usually, this close to the full moon, she didn't like to wear pants. Perhaps the winter chill in the air drove her to it. Hermione threaded her long, fluffy wolf-tail through the hole and pulled the pants into place before buttoning them. Her wolf-ears swivelled back and forth atop her head, almost lost in her messy curls, and Della waited for the girl to turn and look at her before offering her hand.

"Ready, darling?" she asked her daughter.

"You're scared," Hermione told her, stepping closer and curling her arms around Della's waist, breathing in her scent and undoubtedly listening to the rapid hammering of her heart.

"I am," Della said. "It's alright to be scared sometimes, darling."

"Scared of Daddy?" Hermione frowned up at her.

"Just scared of his reaction, sweetheart. It's been a long time since we've seen each other and he's missed out on seeing you for so long."

"If he hurts you, we're leaving, Mummy," Hermione told her resolutely, ever mature for her young age. "I don't care if he is my Daddy and can teach me to be a real wolf. If he hurts my Mummy, I'm going to bite him silly and then we're leaving."

"I love you, Hermione," Della told the little girl, tears prickling her eyes.

"I love you too, Mummy," Hermione grinned toothily at her before cuddling into her more firmly and closing her eyes, waiting to be Apparated.

Della tried to calm her racing heart to little avail, before twisting on the spot and Disapparating with a sharp crack. They landed outside Fenton's cottage in the snow and Della shivered at the frigid temperature amid the deserted village. She could see paw prints littering the snow, telling tales that the pack did still live there, but not a light was lit and not a soul was in sight.

"It's deserted," Della frowned, squinting by moonlight at Fenton's cottage.

"No," Hermione whispered, pulling out of her mother's hold. "It's not."

The girl's eyes glowed in the dark, seeing things that Della couldn't.

"Are the pack close, Hermione?" Della asked, frowning.

"They're watching," Hermione whispered. "Mummy…. I think, maybe…. We should go inside."

She never looked away from something in the dark, her eyes fixed on the woods and Della looked fearfully in that direction before taking Hermione's hand and tugging her up the porch steps of Fenton's small cottage. Inside, the fire was almost out and Della hurried over to it, stoking it up while Hermione locked the door.

"Mummy?" Hermione asked, standing by a window while Della stoked the fire.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Hermione sniffed slowly. "Is this Daddy's cottage?" she asked.

"Yes," Della nodded. "This is Daddy's cottage. He's out there in the woods."

"Have you ever seen him as a wolf?" Hermione asked softly.

"No, darling."

"Oh… He's um… bigger than I thought he'd be…" Hermione said softly and Della looked over at her daughter when she noted the faintest tremor in the girl's voice.

"Hermione… are you scared?" Della asked her daughter softly.

Hermione tore her eyes from the woods and looked over at her carefully, her little face scrunched up like the word offended her.

"Maybe a little," Hermione whispered truthfully.

Right at that moment a long, triumphant seeming howl sounded from outside and Della almost jumped out of her skin. Hermione tensed and Della watched the urge to howl with the pack crawl down her daughter's spine. She understood it. She felt the same urge though she wasn't a werewolf, and she feared what might come of it if the girl howled with the pack.

"Don't howl, darling," Della whispered, crossing the room quickly and wrapping her arms round Hermione. "Promise me you won't howl."

Outside the pack joined the first lonely howl and the woods seemed to ring with the sound. Della closed her eyes. There were more of them than before. When she'd been here the first time there hadn't been that many.

"Mummy, I have to," Hermione whispered, struggling in her hold.

"Don't," Della said. "Please don't."

But the girl's instincts had overtaken her sense and before Della could stop her, Hermione tore free of her arms and dashed across the cottage, flinging the door wide and racing onto the porch. Standing on the top step, Hermione flung her head back and howled as loudly as she could.

Della's heart was racing inside her chest and she fearfully followed the girl to the porch, peering through the door worriedly, hoping Fenton had been right and that the bite he'd given her to mark her as his mate would protect her from the rabid hunger of the wolves. She scratched at her skin as she stood there, the howling and the scent of Fenton that lingered in the cabin making her predicament worse.

The woods fell silent at Hermione's howl, the wolves surrounding the village all pausing to listen the voice of the intruder in their pack. Della prayed they wouldn't hurt her baby girl. Hermione's howl tapered off and she whimpered softly in the silence that followed. Della held her breath, waiting, wondering if they would attack or if they would accept the daughter of their Alpha.

Gods, what if Fenton was dead and they weren't safe at all? His scent clung to the cabin, and the fire had been burning, so she doubted he was dead, but what if he was? What if he was gone and the wolves were coming for her now?

"Mummy?" Hermione said fearfully, her ears twitching back and forth as she listened to things Della couldn't hear. "Close the door. Lock it. Mummy, get into bed."

"What's wrong, darling?" Della asked, fearfully.

"They're coming," Hermione whispered, looking over her shoulder at her mother with fear glittering in her eyes before she dropped her head back again, howling this time in challenge and defiance, just daring the pack to try and hurt her mother.

Della's heart was in her throat and she almost swallowed her tongue when she heard the heavy sound of rapid paws rushing in their direction. Eyes appeared out of the darkness, glowing yellow and green in the night. Della almost screamed as one pair settled upon her, moving fast, closing the distance between the two of them quickly. Hermione moved to intercept her father, not recognising him for who he was and Della moved to capture the girl before she could get herself killed. She doubted Fenton could or would hurt her, but she didn't want to risk it.

The huge Alpha werewolf sprang onto the porch just as Della snatched her daughter out of his way and pushed her behind herself, forcing her back into the cabin. Hermione growled and clawed at her, wanting to protect her. Della braced once hand in the doorway, holding the girl back and blocking the path of the werewolf as he skidded across the porch toward her. He slid to a stop just short of her face, less than a foot separating them. Della narrowed her eyes, reaching for her courage as the wolf rose to his full height – his glowing eyes level with her own despite her five-foot height.

His hackles rose, baring his teeth at her, his eyes feral and wild, bearing no shred of humanity. Della curled her own lip in retort, listening to Hermione growling behind her. The wolf licked his chops when she snarled at him and Della knew without a doubt that it was him.

Her mate.

"Hello, Fenton," she said quietly, never breaking her stare.

"Daddy?" Hermione asked, peeking around her and ceasing the way she growled so.

Fenton stopped growling too, his eyes widening just a little as they dropped from Della's gaze to peer at the tiny girl peering around her mother's legs.

"Hermione, sweetheart?" Della said softly. "This is your father."

Hermione gulped audibly behind her before sniffing frantically, clawing at Della some more, wanting to get a closer look. Fenton's nose twitched, too, and Della might've smiled at the meeting of father and daughter if not for the way the rest of the pack were slinking closer, converging on them, snarling and growling. She gripped her wand tightly, wanting to fling hexes at them all, though she knew it would do no good.

A low sound from Fenton stilled them, and Della met his eyes once more when the wolf looked at her. She couldn't make out any emotion in them that she would call human, but she could see that he was in control enough not to hurt either of them. He leaned in closer, sniffing her face before emitting a soft sound akin to a whine and Della suspected it was a happy sound. He licked the middle of her forehead when she leaned toward him subconsciously in return and Della's whole body thrummed with need. The trail of his wet nose down her chest and to her stomach made her tremble and she huffed in surprise when he nuzzled her belly, probably picking up on the scent of her desire.

When he nudged her a little harder, nosing her aside, Della realised that she'd been right. Separation of species would keep him off her until morning, and the obvious curiosity he had about his daughter outshone his desire when he nosed Della aside and sniffed inquisitively at Hermione.

"It's alright, Hermione," Della told her softly when Fenton yipped at her, stepping back a little as though inviting her to come out of the doorway so he could see her better. "He won't hurt you."

"He's big," Hermione whispered, peering up at her mother for a moment.

"Show him your tail, darling," Della said quietly.

She peeled the girl off her, nudging her out onto the porch and letting Fenton see their child. Hermione's ears were almost flat against her head, her tail curled between her legs in her fear and Della's heart clenched. Fenton stepped back another step, showing her that he meant no harm, and Hermione's ears twitched.

Slowly, her tail uncurled and she stood before her lycanthropic father with her fully lycanthropic traits on display. Her ears swivelled back and forth, her tail beginning to swish very faintly like it might wag. Her nose twitched, trying to draw in his scent and Della held still as Fenton circled the girl, assessing her from every angle.

When he stopped in front of her once more, Hermione bravely met his gaze, tipping her head back to hold his eyes when he towered over her.

"Hi, Daddy," Hermione said softly, her voice hopeful and curious as her tail began to wag.

Fenton's tail twitched too as he crouched until he was at eye level with the little girl. He darted a glance at Della before looking at Hermione again and Della felt a terrible prickle of shame as his tail began wagging too. He whuffed in Hermione's face, leaning in and licking her between the eyes and on her cheeks. Della felt awful when she realised how happy he was to meet their daughter, knowing it was her fault it had taken so long for them to meet.

Hermione giggled, her hands coming up to card through his thick fur. He licked her again, yipping happily and many of the wolves surrounding the cottage began to yip and bark, too. Their happiness was evident and Della's heart clenched as she watched Hermione cuddle the wolf her father became every full moon.

She nearly jumped out of her skin a second time when Fenton dropped his head back and howled once more, the sound triumphant and happy as it rang through the forest surrounding the village the Pack called home. The pack joined him and Hermione added her voice to the mix. Della's heart stirred and without meaning to she threw her head back and howled too.

When the sound petered out, Fenton crossed the porch with Hermione hanging from his neck and he licked Della's cheek once more, surrendering the girl to her. Della picked up the little true-born lycan girl and cuddled her close. Fenton butted his head against her chest, nudging her back toward the doorway, and Della got the message that though he was pleased to see them, they needed to stay inside where it was warm, rather than being out in the snow with the pack.

He eyed her meaningfully when Della carried their daughter inside and she could tell the gleam in his eyes was a warning that she better still be there in the morning.

"We'll be here," she promised softly. "I'll see you at dawn, Fenton."

He narrowed his eyes but nodded his head, stepping over the threshold and nudging her toward his bed. Della rolled her eyes even as she carried the little girl over to the bed and sat down upon it.

"I want to go with you, Daddy," Hermione said, squirming in Della's arms and reaching for the werewolf.

"It's too cold outside tonight for you, darling," Della told her. "You can see Daddy in the morning, and maybe, if you're good, you'll be able to run with the pack when the weather warms."

"But I'm not cold," Hermione protested, lying. She shivered as she said so and Fenton whuffed at her, nuzzling her hair and nipping her ear very gently in punishment for the falsehood.

"You're cold and you're tired. It's late, darling. Daddy will be here in the morning, I promise," Della assured the girl. "We'll have a nap and by the time we wake up, Daddy will be human and you'll be able to ask him all your questions."

"I _do_ have a lot of questions," Hermione said innocently before a yawn escaped her.

Della laughed softly, peeling back the covers on the bed and tucking Hermione into them when she blinked sleepily. While the girl burrowed down under the covers and closed her eyes, Fenton licked her cheek again and pushed away from the bed, turning feral gold eyes on Della. She held his gaze boldly, aware that he was probably angry with her for all he'd missed, even if he was also pleased to see them.

He growled at her softly when she got off the bed and walked to the door, waiting to close it behind him. Della sighed softly.

"I know you're angry," she told him quietly. "But there's nothing for it, Fenton. We're here now."

He growled again and Della held still when he bared his teeth at her, invading her personal space once more. She narrowed her eyes on him.

"Hurry up," she chided. "It's cold and if you don't get out of here, she'll jump back up with a million questions you can't answer yet. Snarl at me in the morning, Fenton."

He growled at her once more before ducking down in front of her. Della frowned at him. Unsure what he wanted, before she squeaked when he stuck his head under her skirt and burrowed his muzzle between her legs. She squeaked in protest, dancing out of his reach and swatting at him.

"Not when you're all wolf, Fenton," she grumbled when he followed her and licked at her core – knickerless as she was.

He made a little growling sound of contentment, letting her push him away and tugging her skirt back into place. She was painfully aware of the pack watching them and seeming amused by his actions. She would swear by the gleam in his eyes that though he couldn't articulate it, he planned to fuck her silly tomorrow, just as soon as he was human again. Della hated herself just a little when the very thought made her tremble with need.

Fenton padded back out the door looking wickedly amused and he barked at the pack to disperse them while Della watched him. He glanced over his shoulder at her when she slowly pushed the door closed, watching her until the latch clicked and Della turned, pressing her back against the cold wood and trying to think about anything other than the thrumming, aching need between her legs that promised to soon be quenched.


End file.
